The Great Depression, Bogdanovich Style

The Film: Paper Moon (The Director's Company, 1973). Directed by Peter Bogdanovich. Written by Alvin Sargent. Starring Ryan O'Neal, Tatum O'Neal, Madeline Kahn, John Hillerman, P.J. Johnson. Running time: 102 minutes.

My first viewing: Whoah Lord, I don't know. Back in the 1970s sometime. I've seen the film so many times, I've lost track. Seems like the first time I saw it, I must've been seven or eight. It came on television often in Southern California. Hell, for all I know, I might've seen it in the theaters.

The 4-1-1: Paper Moon is one of those films that's like an old friend. I watched it over and over again, much like The Wizard of Oz (1939). Firing it up in the DVD player today, I feel the same sense of comfort I experienced when I viewed it decades ago. For some reason, during the 1970s, filmmakers made magnificent movies set in the Great Depression (recall Chinatown, Bound for Glory, Boxcar Bertha, Sounder, the list goes on and on). Paper Moon is yet another wonderful Great Depression movie from the seventies. It's a movie about a con man and a little girl who may - or may not - be father and daughter. The sparks between the O'Neals (papa Ryan and sweetly Tomboyish little Tatum) is nothing short of awe inspiring. What a delight it is to watch the two of them engaged in verbal boxing matches. It still works beautifully today, 37 years later. Madeline Kahn is a damn hoot as the floozie Trixie Delight, who spends her time trying to get her hooks deeper and deeper into Moses Pray (Ryan O'Neal). Young Addie Pray (Tatum) conspires along with Trixie's African American servant Imogene (P. J. Johnson) to drive a wedge between Trixie and Moses. Watch out for scene stealer Burton Gilliam as the foolish desk clerk Floyd, who is one of Addie's many pawns in the film. Gilliam is one of those character actors who is everywhere. You'll recognize him when you see him. He has a smile that can stop a train dead in its tracks. And John Hillerman, who played snooty Higgins in Magnum P.I. during the 1980s, turns up as twin brothers. Like Gilliam, Hillerman is one of those character actors who found an awful lot of work in the 1970s. Although he's from Texas, he has one of those great Orson Welles-esque deep baritone voices. He's in top form here, especially in his role as the sheriff. This was, of course, right before he landed the part as the deliciously slimy Russ Yelburton in Roman Polanski's Chinatown (1974).

The Real Star of the Film: Without question, the main reason to see this film is the astonishing cinematography by László Kovács. His stark, high-contrast black-and-white shots of Kansas and Missouri absolutely boggle the mind and recreate the grandeur of Dorothea Lange's Great Depression photographs. Thanks to him, Paper Moon bears a much closer resemblance to America in the 1930s than any films actually made at the time.

Bottom Line: Peter Bogdanovich was on fire when he directed Paper Moon. Look at his filmography: Targets (1968), The Last Picture Show (1971), What's Up Doc? (1972) and Paper Moon (1973). All superb films. Alas, after Paper Moon, he began making films like Daisy Miller and Nickelodeon. Nothing that Bogdanovich has made since Paper Moon comes close to touching the film. Thankfully, in recent years, he has been writing some wonderful film criticism and he remains one of the finest film historians in the United States today. Nobody understands the language of cinema more than Peter Bogdanovich. Without question, Paper Moon was - along with The Last Picture Show - his finest moment. Grade: A-.

Three on a Match: A Pre-Code Classic (or: Why I'm nuts about Ann Dvorak)

The Film: Three on a Match (First National Pictures, 1932). Directed by Mervyn LeRoy. Screenplay by Lucien Hubbard, based on a story by John Bright and Kubec Glasmon. Starring Joan Blondell, Ann Dvorak, Bette Davis, Lyle Talbot, Warren William, Humphrey Bogart. Running time: A mere 63 minutes!!!

(Above: Three pals, left to right: Bette Davis, Joan Blondell and Ann Dvorak, lighting cigarettes from the same match. Not a good idea.)

When I first saw it: On Turner Classic Movies a few years ago. Thank God for Turner Classic Movies!

A few words about the film: Directed by the versatile Mervyn LeRoy (Gold Diggers of 1933, I Am a Fugitive From a Chain Gang, Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo, the list goes on and on), Three on a Match is a potent pre-Hays Code motion picture that still packs one hell of a punch. The film was released in the fall of '32, during the depths of the Great Depression, when soup lines looped around entire city blocks and the nation teetered precariously on the precipice. In the film, three women (Joan Blondell, Bette Davis and Ann Dvorak) who've been pals since childhood get together and each light a cigarette from the same match. According to superstition, one of the three women who lights a cigarette from a match that lights the other two will die. Your job: Guess which one of the three gals will perish by the end credits? Will it be level-headed Mary (Blondell), who always does the right thing? Nondescript stenographer Ruth (Bette Davis), who isn't in much of the film at all but has pretty eyelashes? Or unhappily married Vivian (Dvorak), who is bored with her well-to-do hubby (Warren William) and sick of being a mother to her adorable little son? (Can you see where this is going?) Yes, it's a morality play. Yes, it lays it on thick. But this is a gripping melodrama in the finest tradition of Warner Brothers' Depression-era movies. Vivian goes on an ocean cruise with her son, but without hubby. She neglects the brat and shacks up with gambler Michael Loftus (Lyle Talbot). Vivian ultimately decides to leave hubby, becomes a cocaine addict and gets mixed up in Michael's entanglement with a group of gangsters (one of whom is played to the sinister hilt by Humphrey Bogart in an early role). Heroine Mary (Blondell) tries to intervene to save her downward-spiraling friend Vivian. Will she succeed before the coming of the end credits? That's for me to know and you to find out, bub.

(Left: Ann Dvorak, protecting her son from a group of ominous goons led by the great Humphrey Bogart.)

My reasons for digging it: Three words: Ann Dvorak, Ann Dvorak and Ann Dvorak. Actually, that's seven words, but who the hell is counting? I'm not kidding you, my friend - this woman was truly one of the finest actresses to ever come out of Hollywood. This is the time and place to recommend the wonderful website called Ann Dvorak: Hollywood's Forgotten Rebel. Dvorak had just recently starred in the gangster masterpiece Scarface, another one of my favorite movies, when she appeared in Three on a Match. In Three on a Match, she conveys a wide range of emotions in a way that is always utterly believable. She's the classic "fallen woman," and there isn't a false note in her performance. Throw in brilliant Humphrey Bogart as the menacing gangster called "Harve" who, through a simple facial and hand gesture, indicates that Dvorak's character is hooked on cocaine, and you've got the makings of a fabulous film. I've watched a lot of films from the early 1930s (it was a fascinating period of experimental filmmaking, in the limbo region between silent and sound) and not many of them from this era withstand the test of time the way Three on a Match does. Most movies from the period tend to be full of pops and hisses, stilted dialogue and overacting. Not Three on a Match. It keeps you watching until "The End" flashes on the screen. Even though Dvorak's character Vivian is selfish, she's also sympathetic. The viewer is left on the edge of her/his chair, waiting to see whether she survives the superstitious curse placed on her early in the film when she shares a match with Davis and Blondell.

In the final analysis: Part paleo-noir, part gangster film, part romance, part drama, this film has it all. There's humor. There's pathos. There's the nerve-racking last ten minutes of the film that made me bite my fingernails to the quick. Hard to believe Mervyn LeRoy packed all of this in to 63 minutes. Being a pre-Motion Picture Production Code movie, the film gets away with all kinds of edgy and risky moments that you won't find in movies made even a year after it. And Ann Dvorak - brilliant Ann Dvorak - how lucky we are to savor her amazing screen presence. Grade: A-.

"Supernatural, perhaps. Baloney, perhaps not."

The Film: The Black Cat (Universal Pictures, 1934). Directed by Edgar G. Ulmer. Screenplay by Peter Ruric (Screen Story by Edgar G. Ulmer, Peter Ruric). Starring Bela Lugosi, Boris Karloff, David Manners, Jacqueline Wells. Running time: 65 minutes.

When I first saw it: Mmm... 1981. Shortly after we purchased our first VCR. 

A few words about it: This art deco horror film is dark as hell. And for a movie made in the depths of the Great Depression, it was way, way ahead of its time. This movie has the distinction of being the film that I've seen more than any other film ever made. I missed a lot of school when I was a teenager, and I spent a lot of that time with The Black Cat in the VCR, watching it over and over and over again. I memorized every scene and every line in this movie. Bela Lugosi plays Dr. Vitus Werdegast, a World War I veteran who is returning to settle an old score with evil Hjalmar Poelzig (Boris Karloff). Karloff gets top billing (by this time, Universal was simply referring to him by his last name -- KARLOFF). But make no mistake about it: This picture belongs to Lugosi. It's his finest moment. Better than Dracula. Better than White Zombie. Better than any of his other movies. Lugosi is sympathetic in this film. It's his most sympathetic role ever, in fact. He is sympathetic to the point of being heartbreaking. The poor guy has been in a prisoner of war camp for years (long after the war ended, he was still held captive there). During the war, Lugosi was ripped apart from his wife and daughter. By sharp contrast, Karloff's Poelzig, a war criminal who now owns a uber-high tech house on the ruins of notorious old Fort Marmorus. The movie opens with Lugosi on a train meeting a young couple on their honeymoon (played by Manners and Wells). After leaving the train, a bus accident leaves the couple, along with Lugosi and Lugosi's servant (a tall, spooky looking dude called "Thamal," played by character actor Harry Cording) stranded at Herr Poelzig's fancy house. The house is actually one of the stars of the film. It is cool as hell, in a funky, retro, art deco kind of way. Turns out that Poelzig is a Satanic high priest (!). There is also a dark secret involving Werdegast's wife and daughter that simply adds to the pathos of the film. Ultimately, Poelzig and Werdegast play a chess match that will decide the fate of the young married couple. If Werdegast loses, the cute young lady (played by Wells) will get sacrificed in a Satanic ritual! One other note: The film has an amazing classical music soundtrack; in fact, it probably utilizes more classical music than any other movie ever made, from Franz Lizst's Sonata in B Minor to Franz Schubert's Symphony No. 8 (Unfinished) to Tchaikovsky's Romeo and Juliet Overture. The list goes on and on. 

Why I dug it: The Black Cat is one of the most unique films ever made. It's a pioneering film noir -- a paleo-noir of sorts. It's almost impossible to believe that such an edgy and dark film could've been made in the 1930s. But here it is. The final scene in the film -- I WILL NOT GIVE IT AWAY (no spoilers here!) -- is still shocking, even after 75-plus years. Let's just say you will not forget the ending  -- or the rest of the nightmarish film, for that matter. 

Parting Shot: I will never see another film as many times as I've seen this one. This movie got me through my teen years. I love Lugosi in this film. He reveals in The Black Cat what an astonishing actor he is. The intensity in his eyes, the facial expressions, the range of emotions... There will never be another Lugosi. My favorite line from The Black Cat is when Lugosi tells David Manners' naive young character: "Supernatural, perhaps. Baloney, perhaps not." 

A film I savored with my father...

The Film: The Sting (Universal, 1973). Directed by George Roy Hill. Screenplay by David S. Ward. Starring Paul Newman, Robert Redford, Robert Shaw, Charles Durning, Ray Walston, Eileen Brennan. Running time: 129 minutes. 

When I first saw it: First in 1973 (at the ripe old age of 5), then about 10 years later for the second time. 

A few words about it: The Sting takes more twists and turns than Lombard Street in San Francisco. It is not a movie for kids. Not that there's anything gruesome or graphic about it. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre it ain't. But it's a movie about con men and their art. And these con men are damn good at what they do. It's also a movie about good, old-fashioned, All-American payback. Revenge. It's about Johnny Hooker's (Robert Redford) effort to avenge the death of his beloved friend, Luther (played by James Earl Jones's father, Robert Earl Jones -- the two men look different but sound identical). Luther is murdered by gangsters working for underworld kingpin Doyle Lonnegan (brilliantly played by Robert Shaw, a tremendously gifted actor who died much too young of a heart attack in Ireland in 1978 at age 51). Hooker enlists in the aid of his fellow con man Henry Gondorff (Paul Newman), a burned-out, old-school scam artist who believes in going big when he schemes. Hooker and Gondorff plan a massive and intricate plot to con Lonnegan. In order for it to work, everything has to come together just so.... The real tension in the film comes in when you wonder whether this Mount Everest of con jobs is actually going to work. I won't give away any spoilers. Like the con job it depicts, the film is seamless. It's beautifully made, with a screenplay by David S. Ward that speaks the language of the 1930s with authenticity. Director George Roy Hill (who teamed Redford and Newman together for Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid four years earlier) is in top form. Too bad Hill would never direct another masterpiece to equal The Sting or Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (although fans of Hill's 1977 hockey comedy-drama Slap Shot --and there are plenty of 'em here in Canada -- might beg to differ). Backing the powerful trio of Redford, Newman and Shaw are great character actors Charles Durning, Eileen Brennan and Ray Walston and Harold Gould, who all seem like they've been plucked out of a fast-talking, Depression-era movie. 

Why I dug it: The Sting is one of the first films I actually recall seeing in the movie theater. I didn't understand it at age 5. It was far too intricate. A decade later, I saw it with my father. We watched it on VHS. He would stop it every few minutes and explain the con job to me and make sure I was following it. It was a wonderful bonding experience between the two of us. I'll never forget it. 

Parting Shot: The Sting still packs a punch. It's not a perfect film. The Scott Joplin music seems curiously out of place in it. Ragtime was out of fashion in the 1930s. The story is complicated -- not the sort of film you can start and stop, start and stop. It isn't always a delightful romp. But it's a film with heart and soul. And nothing can quite beat having your father dissect it for you. Grade: A- (but an "A" for sentimentality). 

The Movie that Started it All...

The Film: King Kong (RKO, 1933). Directed by Merian C. Cooper, Ernest Schoedsack. Screenplay by James Ashmore Creelman, Ruth Rose (based on the story by Merian C. Cooper and Edgar Wallace). Starring Fay Wray, Robert Armstrong, Bruce Cabot. Running time: 105 minutes. 

When I first saw it: Circa 1972. I was about four. 

A Few Words About It: There isn't much I can add about this film that hasn't already been written. Entire books have been published on King Kong and its influence. It's an amazing film that holds up incredibly well today, three-quarters of a century after it was made. It has inspired numerous remakes, sequels, rip-offs and pale counterfeits. What can I say that you don't already know about the movie? One of the screenwriters, James Ashmore Creelman, committed suicide by leaping off a tall building in 1941. Co-creator Edgar Wallace wrote more than 150 novels, numerous plays and too many articles to count. It's difficult to say which figure involved in this making of this film had the greatest influence on its timeless, enduring style. Several King Kong experts have given credit to stop-motion-animation guru Willis O'Brien. Like Creelman, O'Brien's life contained some tragedy. He married Hazel Collette in 1925, divorced her in 1930, and the year Kong was released, Hazel murdered their two sons and then attempted to shoot herself. Her suicide attempt failed, but she later died of tuberculosis. O'Brien's Kong was more human than human: Filmgoers could see the happiness, pathos, anger and frustration in his face. He was far more sympathetic than any of the human characters in the film. Even in our Age of CGI, the special effects are still amazingly fresh in the film. You can almost feel the steam in the jungle sequences. And the airplanes strafing Kong atop the Empire State Building are astonishing. O'Brien's techniques improved even more later in the year with Son of Kong (1933) and 1949's giant ape film, Mighty Joe Young. The end of King Kong -- I won't give it away here if you're one of the three or four people in the world who hasn't actually seen it -- is still haunting after all these years. King Kong remains influential to this day, ranking number 41 on the latest list of the American Film Institute's Top 100. 

Why I dug it: There's something magical about the first film you've ever watched from start to finish. I I laughed, hid under my cushion and ultimately wept in Kong. The memories are still vivid. 

Parting Shot: The film looms large, not only in the popular imagination, but in my memory. I had to pick a Mount Everest of a film for my first entry. But you've got to start somewhere. Grade: A+.